


I RUN THIS FUCKING PLACE.

by Tia_Maria



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Death, Hidden Bureaucratic Papers, I hate Mr. Campbell, I love David, I think Max should run the camp, It has been months since I finished this, Kinda meaningless, Not Beta Read, Ownership of land, Pré S3:E13, Survival Supplies, short-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 08:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19787203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tia_Maria/pseuds/Tia_Maria
Summary: Max find Mr. Campbell lost in the woods, starving and dying from a fever.He offers the old man all the surviving items he's in need. In exchange, of course, for his resignation upon the land.





	I RUN THIS FUCKING PLACE.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for fun when I was at work in February.

His throat was dry, his eyes heavy, sweat was running down his forehead and a migraine had yet to start ceasing since the day he ran into the woods, trying to lose the FBI's watchful eyes over him.

His feet got stuck on a high root and he fell, his head hit a rock and he cried in pain.

He just wanted a warm blanket, a martini bottle and to pass out inside somewhere that is not infested with mosquitos.

Sighing, he rested his back on the ground and decided to close his eyes. He wouldn't make more than a day, if he didn't find potable water in the next  _ hour _ .

As his head was hurting like a freaking bus had hit him, Mr. Cameron Campbell - letting the weight on his body to get supported only by the gravity and the ground itself - decided to give up.

Just…  _ give up _ . 

He’d had enough adventures already.

Being lost in the woods without supplies was a harsh deed, especially for someone his age.

Yeah, he was pissed, he wasn't even  _ near  _ his limit in age but his body and system just couldn't take it.

He knew it was time to give up.

At least - he thought one last time - he is dying on  _ his lands _ .

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

“Oh!  **_Hello_ ** , Mr. Campbell.” The Indian kid's voice sounded fakely happy, waking him up from his last dreams.

It was hard, but the old man managed to raise his voice a little to reply.

“Fuck off, Kid.” He said. Deep and harsh, like the desert was inside his vocal cords.

“I did,” Max said, sitting on a good distance. “But then I came back.”

Cameron Campbell opened his eyes and glared at the kid, frowning in confusion as he saw the caramel-skinned boy reaching something inside a backpack placed between his legs.

The old man stared at the view, still much confused, as he saw the kid take a bottle of water from inside it and throw It on the ground. Right beside the grizzly man's Head.

Cameron Campbell's eyes widened, reaching for it with shaking fingers. He barely had time to open it before Max started to speak again.

“I have  _ more _ .” His grin was mischievous. “Water, Food, Medicines, Alcohol, Cigars, all that stuff you were hiding in the basement.” He explained, playing around with a pen on his small fingers.

The old man frowned again, his migraine screaming for him to lay back down or suffer the consequences. Pressing his forehead on the dirt, Mr. Campbell sent the kid a look from the corner of his tired eyes.

“What do you want?”

It was obvious as a clean-crystal.

Kids were one thing. Max, though, was not a normal Kid.

He was a manipulative, cocky and smart little human being.

Grinning like a freaking lawyer in the middle of his enemies’ client perpetual sentence, Max replied.

“I want your  _ autograph _ .”

That made Cameron Campbell blink in confusion and look at the kid.

Max was sitting, a thick quantity of papers clipped together on one hand while a pen was neatly placed on top of It. The kid's arm was straight, as if giving the old grizzly man all the papers.

Campbell sighed. It was as obvious as it could be. That was not an autograph plead. He had those once, a long time ago - he knew what a fan looked like. 

Max was not even looking at him as a  _ human being _ . His clear aquamarine eyes were studying him like a freaking  _ predator _ .

It unnerved the old man. 

And, as fast as he was to give up his own life a few minutes ago, he wasn't akin as to let that Kid watch while Cameron Campbell perished in the middle of the woods of his property.

“What is it?” He managed to ask, not having strength in his arms to actually hold all those papers.

Max didn't reply, he reached inside his backpack and took a nice smelling sandwich from inside there. He hummed, waving around the food and sent another glance to the man's pitiful body laying on the ground.

“I put painkillers between the cheese.” He said, not answering at all to the question made. “Do you  _ want it _ ?”

Cameron Campbell frowned, he was shaking, he was  _ weak _ . He needed that. Food, Water.  _ Damn _ . He would give anything for one last drag on his favorite cigar before dying.

“What else did you bring?” He asked, voice low, dry, lips sore and body sweating as the fever wave got him again.

Max didn't make a sound, he blinked back at the dying man on the ground, unfazed,  _ serious _ . And frowned in reply.

“It’ll depend on how many pages you sign.”

The old man worked for years in the politics, with burglaries and robberies - he knew when the opposite part was trying to win something over offers they couldn't accomplish.

He was no beginner.

Cameron Campbell wanted to pass from this life to another (or to the beyond) in solely peace - It would be even better if he was drunk and high.

Preferably both.

But he knew  _ bluffs _ . He had played poker for a _life_ before.

“Show me the booze first.” The old man said, trying to grin in reply.

Because he knew the boy wouldn't deliver what he truly wanted to.

For his ultimate please and dread - Max did.

Not just that. He had brought his Martini Bottle, his favorite Cigar collection and his hidden snowflakes guilt pleasure well wrapped on that known small plastic bag.

“ _ Want me to open the bottle for you _ ?” Max asked, laughing lowly, intense stare pinching the grizzly man from above.

Cameron Campbell was no beginner - but old players  _ tend _ to underestimate their young opponents.

Sighing, the old man let go an instinctively (and unhumorously) laugh in defeat.

“Put the pen on my mouth.”

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

David let go of a sigh of relief after seeing Max back at the bonfire. He ran to meet him, hands on his hips and a serious face as he told the Indian kid why his actions were extremely irresponsible.

Max blinked back at him, not at all amused. 

He did, though, grin in reply, and shrugged at David's usual worried state upon his well being.

Max snapped his fingers and pointed to the main cabin, walking slowly to the wooden door. David frowned in confusion and Gwen, standing a few feet away, came closer to ask what was going on.

The red-haired Camp-Counselor shrugged and followed the young caramel-skinned boy to the main cabin.

Max sat on the office chair near the desk and put his heavy bag on the floor. Then, he opened It as David was coming closer to watch over the kid. Max barely sent him a glance in recognition and reached the thick bunch of papers inside it, pulling out and setting them over the desk.

Getting in his tiptoe, he opened one of the drawers and withdrew from there a small chest locked box - which, quickly, he opened pressing the right keys.

David opened his mouth to question his camper's attitude and actions but Max raised a hand and, silently, asked for David to wait.

As the good (and curious) counselor he was, David did just that. He waited.

Max, then, took a small stamp from inside the small chest box and pressed its ink mark against every single page of the long formularies. Right under Mr. Cameron Campbell's ugly signs.

Once he finished - which took his about 6 minutes or so - the Indian kid saved everything back in its place and straightened the papers.

Not even a second after that, David decided he had waited enough and slowly tried to ask about all that. Max, foreseeing his Camp-Counselor's actions, decided to finally give David an answer.

“I own you, now.”

As David read through the pages, he gaped unbelievably. A hand instantly flying to his opened mouth.

“ _ Max _ …” The red-haired man said, breathless “What is this?”

The short kid hid his hands inside his front-pockets while shrugging.

“I found that man's papers abdicating the land to some guy on Russia, once, in the spooky island.” Max sat on the desk, waving his legs as he kept going. “Three days ago I found him sleeping between some brushes in the dark woods, and decided to take what I could get from that opportunity. It was clear that he was going to die anyway.” Max took a deep breath in and concluded. “I took the papers and remade the contract with my given name on it, then I made him sign the shit before dying.”

David's widened eyes were unblinking. Completely unbelievable.

“Mr. Campbell--”

“ _ David _ .” Max's serious face and voice said. “He is  _ dead _ .” He said, not leaving room for comebacks.

The Camp-Counselor loudly sighed, with closed eyes and drooping shoulders. Slowly, he sat on the chair in front of the desk and put the documents on the table.

“Alright…” The red-haired man supported his head on a hand, arms resting on the surface of the wooden furniture. He was still incredibly confused and utterly surprised, however… he somehow couldn't find himself to be as worried as he normally would. “But  _ why _ did you go through so much work, Max?” his voice wasn't loud, more like a whisper.

Like he didn't know if the information was something they should be talking about.

Max glanced at the Camp-Counselor by the corner of his blue aquamarine eyes.

“Because the summer does end.” He answered. Turning around and frowning. “And owning this land means I can do whatever the fuck I want to it until then.” Concluding, shrugging non-challenged. “And  _ after _ then also.”

David nod, slowly, accepting the reason given - It  _ did _ make sense that Max wanted to mess the land as much as he could until the summer was over.

But, what he didn’t realize, was that it all could be resumed in one single sentence.

A  **_wish_ ** , that Max has been having for a few weeks already.

Mostly, owning the land means he won't have to go home.


End file.
